The qualities all in a bee that we meet, In an epigram never should fail; The body should always be little and sweet, And a sting should be felt in its tail.
O! lost to virtue, lost to manly thought, Lost to the noble sallies of the soul! Who think it solitude to be alone.
Be wise to-day; 't is madness to defer.
A man of pleasure is a man of pains.
Too low they build who build below the skies.
Ne'er to meet, or ne'er to part, is peace.